Fear of Flying

This blog title is a throwback to a blog post I wrote several years ago. I was on an airplane and the person in the middle seat had an intense fear of flying. Long story short, me and the guy to her right held each of her hands during different points in the trip. It was a sweet moment that I’ll never forget.

In my mom’s final years of life I spent a lot of time on airplanes. I’d gotten so good at picking up and going that I rarely unpacked my bag. I’d wash the clothes and put them right back in. It was one less thing to think about.

Now that I’m on the other side I absolutely hate the airport. All those years of flying and essentially being traumatized from what I was doing, seeing and experiencing has made it difficult to fly.

Although I have been on flights since, I have what feels like an irrational fear of not being able to make it to my destination or make it home.

I don’t even have a flight coming up but I almost want to cry as I’m typing this right now. I never had this issue until after my mom passed - it’s been amped up by having several almost missed flights where I had to sprint to the next gate.

One such time was my last day of being 38 and my plane arrived later than expected to the airport where I’d take my connecting flight. I knew I’d have to run from one gate to the next and the possibility of missing my flight was horrifying.

Part of it was anxiety and the other part was feeling like things just weren’t going to work out for me - that the things I wanted didn’t matter and that there was a plan to make my life miserable.

I text the friend I was meeting to pray for me because I felt like I was going to break down right there in that airport.

Luckily, after running from one gate to the next, I did make it to the flight (prayer works) and I had a great time.

I’m hoping that by writing about it more and actually traveling I’ll get to a better place with it because today, I don’t want to go anywhere unless it’s a short direct flight. I really don’t want to be on the plane over 2 hours when in the past I’d book a 5 hour flight each way without blinking.

This “after” or A.D. (after my mom died) as I like to call it, is different. Some days I’m great and others I’m swimming in a deep pool of grief so I’m asking for and welcoming all prayers. I need them.

With Love,

Tiffani